


ten fold wild

by holy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Jossed, M/M, not really dirkjake at all, the warping of reality through hope (belief; perception)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9678914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy/pseuds/holy
Summary: in the laws of this world, this is what it means to be a hero.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written jan 2016

he remembers nothing of the first time.

 

the second time, jake is screaming.

his veins have lit up. he feels every inch of himself colliding with every molecule in every particle of air: biting and burning he feels every speck as he shudders past his own form from the air in front of his mouth as he inhales exhales inhales exhales inhales exhales inhales he feels the blood running from his nose past his lips – he claims every inch between himself to where Dirk cradles his body feeling every meter of the great hall to where the others watch on, and he feels every throb of their organs pulsing inside them, every synapse firing, and past them he feels the walls groaning under their own weight and the structure of its impure concrete and further still he feels the rest of their makeshift arc unfold and -

he keeps feeling, falling outward of himself and screaming, his corporeal form twisting and thrashing in agony while Dirk is trying, desperately, to restrain him.

and he faints.

 

jake comes back to some measure of consciousness atop one of the sofas in the communal room. he has different clothes on. the taste of iron is overwhelming - he tries to shift himself into a more comfortable position, but his body shakes and refuses.

“you had a seizure,” rose accuses, from the other sofa.

he nods slowly. “okay,” he says. he feels like he is hardly there. he strokes the blanket he is wrapped in just to feel a different texture on the palm of his hand; a wrong texture, one that sends a shift of vague displeasure through him.

“i’m going to get you a mug of tea and honey,” rose says, and with it departs.

she returns with the tea a while later, and sets it on the wooden coffee table on a wicker coaster with the handle tilted towards him at precisely 90 degrees. he stares at it, acknowledges it as for the world’s greatest grandpa, and then back at her.

“would you like some help drinking?” she asks quietly, differently. she is being nice. when he doesn’t reply she leaves again.

a long, long time later, roxy walks in. “hi, jakey.”

“hullo,” he says.

“gave us a bit of a shock there, huh!” she glances at the mug, and the milky film atop it. “your tea’s gone cold.”

he starts blinking. his forehead furrows and before he’s really got a grip on the situation he’s wracking into roxy’s shoulder while she coos at him and strokes his back and tells him it’ll be okay and that she’s so sorry jake, she’s so, so sorry.

 

jane looks at terezi. “it’s surely better not to force these things,” she stresses. “it’ll come to him when it does.”

terezi ignores her. she instead raises an eyebrow expectantly at jake, hands cruel on her bony hips - something can be said about alternians and overtly aggressive body language, he thinks.

“i daresay it deserves another shot,” he pacifies. “i don’t think it’s all that appropriate to give up the ghost entirely, all things considered.”

jane looks distraught. “jake,” she says, dismayed, like he’s a child.

 

so, a week later, jake lies down on the training room floor again, popping his glasses into his sylladex. a blurry Dirk is kneeling next to him, with terezi opposite. no one else is present this time. he looks up at them both, and fiddles with his hands.

terezi places one hand’s worth of fingertips to his forehead. she will be guiding them this time, as discussed, so jake doesn’t almost kill himself again - she isn’t tiered, and she insists her mind powers don’t quite work the way they want them to, but they figure any little helps.

anything to get this to work, jake had agreed. he plans to keep his word.

he catches Dirk nodding at her before he closes his eyes and tries to calm down. he breathes through his nose slowly, like jane instructed. in, out.

Dirk lays a hand on his chest gently, and jake braces himself.

there is a long, dreadful pause.

“what are you doing?” terezi asks, and jake knows the question isn’t directed at him.

he opens his eyes cautiously. Dirk’s hand slides off jakes sternum; off the wingéd motif. his mouth is drawn into its usual tense, straight line, but something else suggests concern. he can’t pinpoint what, exactly.

“dirk,” says terezi.

Dirk looks between them both. he takes a moment.

“are you sure?” he asks jake quietly, as if terezi isn’t there and they are alone. they have not been alone in a long time.

jake feels an irrational wave of frustration. of course, he wants to say, why else is he lying down on the floor like an idiot with terezi’s fucking claws digging into his scalp, you’re supposed to be the genius, you work it out.

“yes,” he says, instead.

but Dirk doesn’t trust jake to make his own decisions. his face, as blank as ever, seems to retreat into itself.

“Dirk,” he says, and tries to communicate what he can with inflexion. please.

Dirk closes his eyes and turns his head away. he nods, repositioning his hand on jake’s chest. “okay.” he says. he has not conceded; he has merely found his own line of reasoning.

jake nods too, smiles something that doesn’t meet his expression, and Dirk rips out his soul.

 

 

this time, beyond the pain, images –

the ocean is rising to meet him. it foams his ankles, up and over his head. it sloshes into his lungs but he does not struggle for breath. a deep, dark green, with algae, with a million little things making the whole, the soup of them climbing past him, up, and up, and up – he cannot surface. he cannot outpace the swell.

faster they flicker, little moments - rain on red dirt, the fronds of a palm clapping together in the wind. his grandmother, cleaning her glasses. a feeling of joy.

his human thoughts – is this it? i don’t know - is this - what - bubbling like champagne, burst.

 

 

jake wakes in his bed this time.

jade is curled in an armchair next to it like a puppy. she is leaning on crossed arms, whiffling gently in her sleep. he looks at the ceiling tiles and feels the after-tingle of jane’s healing powers like an itch - new skin, old blood.

“hey,” jade says, sometime later. her fluffy ear flicks at a gurgling pipe in the wall.

“hey.”

“are you okay?”

“’m hungry,” jake says, and it’s the truth. terezi didn’t think it would be wise to eat before they tried it again, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been out.

“i’ll get you something, don’t worry.”

jake makes to stand, and is pleasantly surprised to find he does not shake. “i can walk,” he assures.

so they do. at the mess table jade asks him to sit down, and potters off to get him something from the kitchen.

he stares off into space until jade returns with a conglomerate of perfectly stacked perfectly triangular cucumber sandwiches, and seats herself. she is chewing through one amiably, and gestures for him to follow suit.

he picks up a sandwich. “jade,” he starts, unsure.

she looks at him. there is no pity, and he feels a rush of gratitude for it.

“…i feel weird.” jake finishes, lamely.

“now?”

“in general.” he can feel the pores in the bread bristle when he rolls the pad of his thumb over it.

she pauses, before stroking a warm, brown hand over his own. “i’m here.”

“i know,” he says, feeling stupid. the bags above his cheekbones weigh heavier.

she looks at him with her familiar, beloved eyes, sad, and suddenly beams. “we’ve almost won! we can finally go see avatar in a real imax, huh?”

“yeah.” he says, not in the mood.

she rubs his hand a bit tighter, consolidating, and the silence is not uncomfortable. he eats a sandwich, and she has a couple more herself.

“what’s it like, your thing?” he asks.

“my ‘thing’?”

“your space thing,” he says, gesturing a whole lot of nothing with his left hand. “what’s it like for you? how do you do it?”

she thinks about this, and cocks her head to the side. some of her twists fall in front of her face and she tucks them back behind one of her dog-like ears. “i just… do it, really. i feel it.”

he doesn’t hide his disappointment.

“that was a shit answer,” she says. “ignore that. what i mean is… i think about it, clearly, and… it happens.” she takes another bite. “hmm, that was even worse.”

“they all think we have the strongest powers. you know, you with your… thing and me with… this.” he looks pointedly at the spiral on her chest.

“but you don’t think they’re comparable?” jade probes. she was always the smarter one, figuring out what he was asking before he knew himself.

“i don’t know,” he says. “they’re different for everyone.”

“well, look. how many times have you used your powers?”

“that i can be sure of?”

“yeah.”

“the once.”

she shifts in her chair and crosses her legs. “yes, the first time, but otherwise, right? with this?”

“you mean what we’re trying now?” trying to induce a response from his magic by forcing his body into near-death panic mode?

she nods.

“… i don’t know.” he says.

“you don’t know?”

“it’s like,” he sighs through his nose. “it’s like i’m halfway there.”

“’halfway’?”

“i don’t know, i don’t remember much of the first time. i don’t exactly have a point of reference.”

“are you sure?” she says, face crinkled at the corners in amusement, or possibly intrigue.

“i’m not, no.” he admits.

“so you do have an inkling of what it’s supposed to be like, how it feels.”

“sort of,” he leans on his hand. “but i don’t know if i’m there yet.”

she motions for him to continue.

“well, like, i can’t explain it.” he thinks. “you can’t explain yours either.”

“no, i suppose not succinctly.” she smiles, and jabs a finger at his chest. “but that’s what we have in common, see!”

he fiddles with a cuticle on his nail. “whenever i ask how anyone else’s powers work they say it just ‘happens’. they feel what they want to do and it ‘happens’.”

“and yours don’t, of course.”

he crosses his arms over the table, glum.

“maybe you just have to believe,” jade jokes.

he shakes his head, smiling. “but seriously.”

“but seriously.” she agrees, pursing her lips. “maybe you’re just trying too hard.”

“trying too hard.” he repeats, flatly.

she drums her fingers on the table. “you’ve… only done it a few times, if that, and only properly the once. it’ll take practice. you can’t expect yourself to be able to do it on demand, even if we perfectly replicate the circumstances of the first time.”

“but the rest of you can,” he protests.

“but we don’t have what you have.”

he looks away, absentmindedly scratching his cheek. jade repositions her hand over his again, from across the table.

“john uses his powers to re-carbonate his frigging soda.” he adds, after a while.

“irresponsible,” she says, mock-stern.

 

 

they usually use dinner to discuss strategy. today is not one of those days.

roxy downs her spiro pill with some flat lemonade, before spooning curry into her mouth. “how long abouts now?”

“final destination is approximately three weeks away at just under light speed.” rose answers. “you’ll have to talk to jade about specifics, you know i’m just the navigator.”

“you said that last time!”

“because ‘last time’ was yesterday, which was also approximately three weeks away from that time.” kanaya replies for her, amused.

jake pushes his food around on his plate a little.

“how’d it go this time?” jane asks him, from across the table.

“i woke up yesterday.” jake blinks, guilty for not seeking her out sooner, to thank her for healing him.

“obviously,” she says, kindly. “did you get any closer this time?”

he shrugs helplessly.

she rips off some of her naan. “are you holding up okay?”

“yes.”

she nods, and mops up her plate with the bread, pensive. “at least you get the cool stuff, even if it’s hard. i’m just a boring white mage without all the decent buffing spells.”

“that’s not true!” he says, aghast.

she looks at him plaintively.

“your magic is great jane,” he insists. “it’s lovely.”

“can’t do much with ‘lovely’ on a battlefield, jake.”

“i very much doubt you need assistance in that department.” he says. “you’re the team ninja.”

“ninja?”

“a sneaky tricky ninja with a trident twice the size of you. your warrior skills are truly unprecedented.” he asserts. “besides, who’s to say lord english isn’t classified as undead? he is a massive skeleton, right? maybe you’ll be the one to deal the final blow. nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine points of damage – pew pew mega life beam!” he makes an explosion noise.

jane smiles, and her cheeks dimple.

“is the boss ground really seriously being referred to as final destination.” dave leans over jane to address rose. “like we’re all calling it that? after everything we’re gonna name it after some shitty brawl level?”

“im pretty sure the whole final destination thing was originally your attempt at pedestrian cross-cultural humour,” karkat snorts. “which, as usual, fell flat on its face, and was repeatedly run into the ground by multiple automobiles.”

“im just saying,” dave says, shades glinting in the fluorescent light, “maybe we should be treating this a lil more seriously. give it a menacing name, go the whole hog - we can’t just call it something dumb after a wii game, though i admit most of our other shit is ridiculous, and/or welsh.”

“you’re asking us to take this seriously,” rose clarifies. “dave strider? serious?”

“i can be serious,”

“i reiterate; dave strider?”

“the whole are you the real blah blah or just alternate timeline dave jokes got old fast and frankly, lalonde, im appalled you’d stick to such prehistoric material.”

“chicka chicka real slim shady,” john incorrectly beatboxes. “what? my name is - huh? my name is -“

dave whirls around, livid, and john snickers into his recently re-carbonated tango. karkat is trying not to smile at dave’s rant - he refuses to live in the world they’ll create at the end of the game if any version of Eminem is somehow present, across any universal axis, categorically, even conceptually - but they’re failing.

karkat looks at dave out of the corner of their eye, affection plainly worn into the lines of their face. they don’t try to hide a smile. they laugh, shaking their head.

jake looks away.

 

“so i thought, maybe we could work on the whole physical aspect as well as the mental. we know jane’s got you doing anxiety breathing things right?” roxy says, stretching her toned arms in front of her.

“uh, yeah.” jake doesn’t elaborate that jane had only given him the best part of 5 minutes of advice, and not much else besides.

they are on a training matt in the hall. roxy is wearing her tracksuit with “juicy” over the ass and a pink cami. “familiarizing yourself with how your body works under stress is important,”

“i don’t want to do any fighting-“ jake starts, looking warily at her taped knuckles.

roxy bursts out a laugh. “no, silly, we’re just gonna do some exercises. you know, go with the flow, get the chi moving through ya. that jazz.”

“…will it help?”

she shrugs, grinning. “no idea! but it’s relaxing, right?”

jake has never been good at hiding expressions. his doubt must broadcast quite clearly, and roxy shakes her head.

she flicks his nose playfully. “watch my stance.”

she moves back a little, claps her hands once, and leans into a squat, with one leg in front of the other. “see how i’m putting my weight on my knee here? and the other is shoulder length apart. you try it.”

he follows her stance clumsily, and wobbles a bit. roxy easily slides out of her own and pushes his shoulders down a little further, the small of his back up and out.

“don’t curl into yourself! spine straight, like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

“roxy,” he says. “i’m not really seeing the point in this.”

“nuh-uh mister, you agreed to give it a shot! lunge forward slowly.”

“i thought you were going to show me some moves!” he whines.

“change leg now,” she says, swapping over her leg positions. it takes jake a bit longer, but she waits for him. “hey, maybe we can put on some workout music! i’m sure dave’s got an old boombox -”

“ugggghhh,” jake says.

“stretch down to your toes.”

“with my leg in front?”

“yes!” and roxy demonstrates.

“im not a fucking contortionist.” he grumbles.

roxy grins. jake stretches, nowhere near his toes, and feels the back of his thigh burn. he knots his brow and grunts.

“do the other leg. come on, this is just a warmup!”

“why?” he begs of her, but obliges.

she considers him. “okay, you’re right, screw this.” she looks at him fondly, and shakes her limbs out and stands again. jake straightens up as well.

“watch!” she says, suddenly, and does a roundoff, just because.

jake claps when she finishes, but looks horrified. “please don’t make me do that.”

she laughs again. “no, it’s okay! we’re all shook out now.” then her expression straightens out, serious.

she rests into the crouch from before, then fluidly moves into another stance, like neo’s from the matrix. she does the hand gesture and everything. she continues moving from one form to another around jake, a good meter away at any given time.

“try and match my movements,” she explains after her third orbit around him, a posture and a pause and a posture, upon jakes bemused expression. “while i’m moving too.”

“like dancing?” he says, embarrassed.

“no, not really!” roxy says, easily. “just go with the flow.”

“i don’t really… i mean, i don’t know those stances, i don’t know kung-fu. yoga.”

“this isn’t kung-fu, or yoga, silly,” she teases. “this is just random. i dunno what i’m doing really. it’s just relaxing - let your limbs go into shapes that feel right or important. you don’t have to copy me. this is just fun.”

“uh,”

she drags her foot across the floor in an arc, holds for a second, then goes into what looks like the crane position. “no wrong way to do it.”

jake goes into the crouch from earlier doubtfully. he does a jerky movement forward.

“good, good!” she says.

after a few minutes they start to find a rhythm. he notices when her stances open, and moves into them, their bodies occupying opposite space.

“this is quite nice,” jake says, unintentionally.

she smiles gently.

they move back to back, and face each other again.

“it just really helps me when i get stuck.” she says, by means of explanation.

“you get stuck?”

“with my magic,” she explains, holding herself in an arch for a few seconds. “even if this is a bit silly and probably isn’t doing anything.”

“you get stuck too?” jake says, distracted. roxy tsk’s at him until he continues to move again.

“shit yeah! powers are hard. did i tell you how long i sat in the mangy prison cell in the alternate timeline practicing?”

“no?”

“a good few days! just trying to zorp green cubes into existence. it was exhausting.” she holds her toes on point like a ballerina. “and i couldn’t even do them right and they’re supposed to be the simplest objects in reality or some shit.”

“green cubes?” he questions.

“tell me about it.”

“how did you break out of it?”

she windmills her arms, one up, and one down to her ankle. “honestly, it all clicked into place when i knew i was doing it for a reason. also i wanted to impress a cute gay alien, so, you know, that was probably it more than anything else, if we’re being honest.”

“do you think that’s what i need?” jake asks.

she looks at him, amused, from upside down. “a cute gay alien?”

“no,” jake scoffs. “a reason.”

she shrugs, grinning. “no idea,”

 

“hauh!”

smack.

“haah!”

terezi and jane are practicing with wooden kendo staves on the raised dias. they shout when they whack each other’s weapon. it bounds off the walls - each smack of wood is a respite from the buzzing that echoes up into the high ceiling.

terezi is losing - she is used to her cane-nunchaku, and it shows. the way her wrists instinctively flick, forgetting themselves - if it’s obvious to jake, it’s a huge neon arrow to their mentor.

kanaya claps once, brisk, and they both look at her. jane is in her sweatpants and tennis shoes, panting lightly, having lunged thrice in the last minute. terezi has her hair tied back with an alice band behind her horns, dressed in a high-collared jumpsuit - it has neon oblongs appliquéd onto its maroon velvet. it’s sort of hard to look at.

“jane, your footwork needs improving. you rely too much on your strength.” kanaya says, not unkindly, smiling that faint mysterious smile of hers. her dark chitin is smattered with light freckles from the alternian sun; stars across her cheekbones.

jane nods, and dips her head respectfully, too tired to debate. terezi leans on her stave like a staff. kanaya seems amused by it, and with a nod gestures for jane to take a break on the bench where jake and karkat are sat, taking jane’s stave from her.

jake, on the sideline, has a glass of orange juice and a towel ready. she takes them gratefully.

“she doesn’t half give you a run for your money!” jane sighs, slouching down next to him and dabbling at her forehead.

kanaya slides out of her heels, placing them primly out of the court. she walks on tiptoes anyway, jake notices, between the folds of her long skirts, and gets into position.

“terezi,” she says. “if you fall back not on your previous knowledge but instead think of it as a new instrument?”

“i’ve been trying that.” terezi says, positioning into a low-back stance, springing on her knees.

“of course. i apologise.”

“eh,” she says, huffing at a bit of her fringe that’s fallen in front of her face. “you’re right.”

kanaya begins circling her, eyes locked onto terezi’s. “it will come.”

“not before we hit the big guy.”

“i do not believe i have known you to back down from a challenge.”

terezi grins. “of course! which is why you won’t dare go easy on me.”

“i am appalled you would, in some capacity, think me capable of such mercy,” she jokes in return, and without a hint of betrayal from her body language brings her stave down before terezi’s forehead, stopping an inch before impact.

terezi blinks in surprise, having heard the whirl of air before smelling the smear of colour. “signless, don’t tell me you’ve picked up that stupid human speed moving thing.”

she laughs. “aren’t you a seer?”

“seers cannot predict the future,” she nearly growls. it is an injoke.

“as rose seems apt to remind me at any given opportunity,” kanaya muses, drawing her stave back artfully. “you go.”

terezi feigns a dive to the right, pulling at the last second to sweep up diagonally. kanaya bats it aside like a fly.

“good, that was good, but no real force behind it. more weight.”

“so,” pants terezi, slicing repeatedly, to be blocked every time. smack, smack, smack. she makes a “uah!” noise at kanaya knocking her aside again. “i need to work on stance?”

“you’re such a tiny thing, it’s not your fault.” kanaya says, and it’s true, because she’s six foot five and built like a lumberjack. “jane and i also have experience with these sorts of weapons. we have a better centre of gravity.”

“fucking-“ terezi says, swinging again, futile. “- space players and your stupid -“ smack. “- space puns.”

“unintentional, i assure you.” kanaya says, amused.

she stops, sweating, and waves a hand at her in protest. “gimme a minute.”

“no, that’s enough for today. good job, work on grounding yourself. and jane?” she calls across to the bench. “light feet.”

jane rolls her eyes. jake looks at her questioningly.

“well just, see, those are utterly different ends of the scales? ‘be this but also be its diametrical opposite’,” jane says, still tired and respiring heavily. “she expects miracles of us.”

“not miracles,” says kanaya, meekly slipping into her heels again, picking up their conversation. “merely improvement. though if you count any improvement as a miracle in itself, then yes.” he’s pretty sure that’s a soft handed insult.

“you’re awfully good with staves,” jake comments.

“thank you.” she says, giving a wink to him. he returns it eagerly.

karkat has been sat silently besides them, arms crossed. “so, what, you going to re-alchemize your chainsaw into a shrubberyslice pole? a pikesaw?”

“no,” she explains. “my specibi is rooted to makeup, not shrubberyslicers, and i do not possess any other strife decks.”

“we can sort that out! i’m sure it’s a good as reason as any to get roxy to poof something up for you.” jane adds.

“but i like chainsaws,” kanaya protests.

“kanaya,” karkat says, suddenly standing. they frogmarch her out of earshot, talking animatedly.

“wonder what that’s about,” terezi asks idly, as jake absentmindedly hands her a towel and her own glass of orange juice. “no, thanks.” she says, to the orange juice.

“i think he’s talking about arranging group strife sessions?” jane thinks.

“’their’,” terezi corrects, turning to her. “sounds like a cool idea, actually.”

“sorry,” she says. “it does have the potential for an accident, though.”

“isn’t everything we do in this stupid game likely to result in our death?” terezi grins, digging a corner of her towel into her pointed ear.

“unfortunately,” jane says, laughing. “but i’m allowed to complain if i’m the one cleaning everyone up!”

“is lunch an order?” jake interrupts, politely.

“of course!” jane says. “do join us tz.”

she nods, and they begin the walk up to their dorms. “i mean the main question would be, what would jade use in a no-holds-barred weapon training fight?”

“how do you mean?” jane says.

“she doesn’t use guns anymore, hasn’t in years, so what would she use if we all pick weapon of choice? like, where do you draw fairness between magic and weaponry. seems a bit harsh for her to pick, example, wicked temporal space lightning against karkat’s sickle, or rose’s pooh sticks.”

“don’t catch her hearing that tz,” dave says, leaning on the banister of the stairs towards the common. he peers down at the three of them. “she’s probably had them elder beings tell her you’re smack talking from both the future and the past, she’ll know you’re bitching, trust me. seer of slander.”

“i can take her goth ass.” she teases. “what’re you doing anyway, skulking around like a kicked meowbeast?”

he shrugs. “waitin for kk,”

“riiiiiiight,” she says. “of course.”

terezi makes kissing noises as they pass him on the stairwell. jane casts him an apologetic look as tz snickers.

“uh, gramps?” dave asks, as jake walks by.

jake stops. “yeah?”

“jake, sorry.” dave leans off the railing and looks at him. he pauses for a moment, as if he’s unsure what to say, his finger twitching. “got some wicked flicks you should totally steal off me some point.”

jake blinks a little. “okay?”

“tomorrow you should come have a look. it’s a mean lot.” and then he turns away, awkward, body language shutting off as if he hasn’t said anything at all. “’later.” he says, finishing the conversation.

jake raises his hand absentmindedly and gives a little wave, before turning to jane and terezi, waiting a meter away, curious.

“watch out jake, he’s gonna recruit you into those two’s weird lovey-dovey kissy club.” terezi comments, and grins her sharp teeth.

 

 

it happens like this:

vriska and Dirk are sparring, as par the group strife session tournament. they are using their real swords, and vriska’s latent luck-grabbing has meant Dirk is permitted to use his static by rose, who is unofficially the referee. jade is sat besides jake, watching them. the winner of this fight in particular will face john in the semi final.

terezi is taking bets on vriska’s win, but no one is daring to bet against her for fairly obvious reasons. karkat is typing on their ‘laptop’, which is a great big desk shaped like a spider that jane keeps looking at cautiously from the corner of her eye. 

jade’s legs are crossed. jake lost his first fight against roxy in the random draws, and jade is smiling toothily at him, weaving a tiny plait into his short hair.

“harley, english, coffee?” dave asks, brandishing a tray. jade shakes her head, using some of her old neon ring bands as hair ties for jakes hair. she scowls at him when jake shakes his head, too, disrupting her work. dave goes to offer some to kanaya, who gladly takes a mug.

“what are you doing?” jake says to jade, fondly, still tired and a bit sweaty.

she sticks her tongue out at him.

he looks to the dais. Dirk arcs a sheet of magenta in vriska’s vague direction, which she spins away from. the containment shield jade put up around the arena whirls like the rainbow film of a bubble when his lightning hits it, before dissipating back into invisibility.

and in a second -

vriska uses Dirk’s window of magic-fatigue to rap the tendons on the back of his hand with the flat of her blade.

reflexively, Dirk drops his katana, and she catches it.

she circles his weapon around, holds it by the blade end and steps past him - she thrusts the butt end of the handle, backwards and up -

into the small of his back, Dirk arching -

 

 

_\- and he’s dying, he’s lying there dying, and caliborn is not laughing but jake can tell if he weren’t otherwise occupied he would, he would, and jake’s eyes are wet but he can’t move, his body has crumpled into itself, broken from being thrown across the arena the stage the theatre the show - he can’t move. he can’t even feel his nerves reminding him of the pain, he has eyes only for dirk deliberately goading caliborn into continuing to attack him, only him, because they have both noticed jane is conscious and struggling to heal herself and she’s their only shot, and he needs to keep caliborn distracted, and roxy is out of jake’s vision but he knows she’s hurt too, maybe dead, and he can’t do anything at all because he is paralysed, bloody, all he can do is watch and he can’t look away, the dull thudding of flesh, the grunts. dirk occasionally wrestles caliborn back down to the floor to land a few hits of his own but after the third try caliborn just stands on his arm and breaks it, starts to kick him harder with the metal of his prosthetic, and dirk is making terrible noises jake can’t process, can’t imagine, animalistic with pain, each cry sleeting through him like a knife, like -_

_a sick part of himself knows this is heroic, a heroic death, death for good,_ in the laws of this world this is what it means to be a hero, _and jake is weeping, body shaking, wracking, unable to move, unable to look away, unable to do anything, unable to process this is happening, because he can’t, this isn’t, after everything - no, this can’t, is this - ? is this it? is this all - they - no -_ no.

 

 

and it feels like surfacing after drowning all of your life.

and it feels like pulling a plant from the earth: sod, roots, and all.

and it feels like his every vein has lit up, vessels not for blood, but ambrosia - thrumming, and good.

 

_and jake stands up._

 

 

vriska is thrashing in his grip. he has her right arm in a lock, broken, twisted upwards and out. she is weeping cobalt, her eyebrows slanted in outrage.

he lets go, shocked.

he remembers how he sprang up and did this to her but remembers it as if it’s another person’s memories, because jake wouldn’t - do that, jake wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, why would he, he doesn’t understand what just - why did he - they were just sparring, why did - he remembers -

he staggers backwards. he remembers how angry he was. he pants wildly, horrified, eyes wide and unseeing and darting at nothing and everything, his breath coming fast and disturbed, and only then notices Dirk’s hand on his cheek. gentle.

he doesn’t understand.

Dirk’s hand on his cheek.

he attacked her.

what -

jake chokes a garbled nonsense word. his knees buckle, and Dirk holds him, and says nothing.

 

jake didn’t faint. he sits on one of the sofas. he remembers being walked there.

he is wrapped in a blanket and clutching a mug of tea - he is dimly aware of the china scalding the palms of his hands but he can’t feel it. he is disassociating. there are people sat around him asking him things, but he can’t process it even if he wanted to.

he notices jade’s hand on his knee, after a while. her eyes are silvery with concern. he can feel red warmth running down from his ear, his throat. it is staining his mustard shirt a crackly brown.

jade’s mouth is moving, and there is sound, but he doesn’t understand. she takes his head into her hands, runs thumbs over his cheeks, before hugging him tightly. the tea spills a little onto her tunic but she doesn’t seem to care. his face feels stretched, tight, streaked with dirt.

he thinks it’s jane who has her hands raised, glowing cyan. as she brings her hands into contact with his arm, the glow cuts out abruptly. he presumes she is trying to get a read on his physical health. it doesn’t seem to be working.

jade repositions so she has her arm tight around his shoulders, and jane tries again, to a similar level of success. something bothers at him about it but he can’t focus. everything is blurry, and wrong. why is she trying to heal him? he’s not the one who - she shouldn’t -

he then remembers dave asked him to look at his dvd collection today and for some reason it makes him laugh, and once he starts he can’t stop - he hunches over himself, body wracking - he can’t stop barking, face leaking anew, delirious, and someone pulls the mug from his curled cats-paw hands, and jade is holding him into her chest and speaking and stroking his hair, so it goes.

he quiets down eventually, but his body doesn’t stop shaking. he has snot and saliva and tears running all down himself and staining jade’s emblem. he is sleeted through with shame, and disgust, and terror.

“jake,” says a voice, and it’s the only thing he’s understood in hours; days. he looks up, breaks away from kind arms.

and in the maelstrom of everything it’s just Dirk, and his expression is warped into something jake again can’t discern, can’t understand. soft, worried. alien, on his stalwart face.

he crouches down to jake’s level and grabs his hands - they are warm like nothing else is. solid, real, like nothing else is. gentle.

“it’s okay now.” Dirk says, eyes amber, hardened preserve.

jake won’t believe him.

 

he shuts himself away in some self imposed sentence.

roxy comes by to play snakes and ladders one time. she says vriska is as fit as a fiddle and hasn’t taken offense, is honestly more impressed than anything else, and it makes jake feel worse. he does not answer the door again.

on the fourth day, he is watching the first tomb raider film for the third time - he is still unable to concentrate on what’s happening, keeps drifting off - when rose raps on his door quietly before entering unbidden.

he lowers his eyes and stands to attention. it’s probably something important.

“relax,” rose says, amused, gesturing for him to sit back down. he does so, wary.

she sits on the bed primly, next to him. “so a little birdy came and told me you don’t even like tea,” she starts. “otherwise i would have bought another.”

he doesn’t look at her. “sorry.”

“i’m just joking with you.” she says, trying to be warm.

he knows that.

she folds her hands over each other. “i came to congratulate you, actually. your powers - you did it.” she says. “congratulations. it was impressive.”

he really, really doesn’t want to hear this. he closes his eyes, clenching his fists together over his lap.

“how can you say that?” he says, desperate for her to leave. “i couldn’t - i was out of control.”

she looks at him, fake sagely. “nah.”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response.

she puts a hand on his knee confidently. “come out of your room,”

“no.”

“you’ve got to eventually.”

“i don’t want to,” he says, like a stubborn child, moving his knee away. he has tinned food in his sylladex and a million movies, it’s just like before this whole mess of a game, before this whole mess of everything. before he messed up -

“you’re not going to do it again, you know.”

“you don’t know that,” he says, voice wobbling.

“you won’t. you won’t do it again, because there’s no stimuli. we’re eating.” she pauses. “and even if you did, it’s not your fault. it wasn’t your fault.”

“i broke her arm,” he says, withdrawing into himself.

“honestly, she deserved it.” rose jokes.

his breath hitches.

“she’s not mad at all, and jane fixed her right up, you know that?”

“that’s not the point,”

“that’s entirely the point.”

“what do you want from me?” he blurts out. “why are you here?”

her smile gets more sad. “because i understand.”

“no, no.” he says. “you don’t! you don’t understand. i don’t understand! you don’t even know me!”

“you’re right,” she pauses. “but what i do know of you is a… a kind person, trying their best to do… what’s right. i know your type.”

he shakes his head, frustrated. “i was angry. i was so angry.”

“it was good anger,” she insists. “you were angry about the people you care about getting hurt.”

“i don’t care!” he says, hotly.

“i wasn’t just talking about today.”

jake leans his face into his hands. “why are you here?”

“because i want to help you.”

“you don’t even like me.”

“what makes you think that?”

“you think i’m stupid.”

“no i don’t. when have i given you that impression?”

“everyone thinks i’m stupid.”

“i don’t think you’re stupid. i think -“

“please,” he says, hoarse. “please - please, just go away.”

she says nothing for a long time, and then, in his peripherals, she nods. “okay.”

she gets up, if somewhat reluctantly, brushing out the folds of her robes and repositioning her headscarf. “i’m sorry,” she says. her delicate fingers linger on the door for a moment. “i hope you know we’re all here for you.”

she leaves.

 

by now, they’ve all cycled their circadian rhythms to the same schedule, despite the diurnal nature of the humans and the nocturnal nature of the alternians. as a result, when jake eventually sneaks out of his room for real food and real water, he makes sure it is the equivalent of three in the morning.

he tiptoes in the dimmed light to the kitchen. there isn’t really a “night” or a “day” on an arc travelling through space, but for the sake of timekeeping they’ve organised a standard “night time”, which is when the lights dim down. he gets out a cup in the dark and fills it full of cold, fresh water, and is halfway through downing it and about to sift through the cupboards when he realises he isn’t alone.

“hey,” dave says.

he jumps out of his skin.

“sorry man.” dave lowers his voice. “you want some roast potatoes?”

“what?” he says. he realises he hasn’t had a shower in days, and hasn’t changed his clothes either, and feels faintly embarrassed at the fact he’s interacting with someone in this condition.

“they had some left after dinner, it’s why i’m here.” he gestures to the baking pan. he pops one off the congealed fat and chews on it. he holds another out for jake.

he stares at it. not wanting to be rude, he takes it, and politely nibbles.

“ok, so, that might be a bit of a lie,” dave says, sinking down to the floor to sit against the cupboards. “i can’t sleep. you too?”

jake nods, because he doesn’t want to explain.

“hey, could you get my milkshake out the fridge? you’re standing.”

he looks between them before reaching over to the fridge.

“it’s the strawberry milk. veg draw.”

“why’s it in the vegetable draw?” jake picks it up and hands it to him anyway.

“why not?” he says, unscrewing the cap. “pass the tray too would you?”

he passes him the baking tray with the potatoes, too.

“you just gonna stand there?” dave picks another. “sit down, you’re making my legs ache just looking at you.”

he sits down, crosslegged, without really thinking. he reaches for another potato.

“so,” dave chews slowly. “you never came and checked out my dvds.”

he feels a flash of guilt. “sorry.”

“it’s cool, it was just a lame excuse to get to talk to you anyway.”

jake shifts, puzzled. the linoleum is cold. “why did you want to talk to me?”

he shrugs.

jake realises dave is just as nervous talking to him as he is talking to dave. he feels bizarrely relieved.

dave gestures the carton towards him and jake takes a swig.

“i totally get if now’s not the time to ask about -” he starts, and he really does sound nervous this time.

“about what?” jake asks, but doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“you… and dirk?”

jake says nothing.

“i lived with him.” dave says, randomly. “i mean, i just, like.” he shuffles a bit. “he’s very… him.”

he must look confused, because dave sighs, and sits up straighter.

“i don’t know why i brought this up.” he says. “not a pleasant midnight snacking conversation on the kitchen floor between two dudes that hardly know each other.”

jake is inclined to agree, but curiosity gets the better of him, as it always has. “what was it like?”

dave considers this. “he didn’t so much raise me as watch me drop shit on my head and then tell me off for not knowing better.”

jake swills the carton. “sounds like him.” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else.

“yeah, see, that’s what i wanted to ask you.”

dave’s shades are leaning on his head, and his eyes look hallow, and wrong. “because what i’ve heard second hand tells me you’ve been through similar shit.”

he looks away.

“i’m right, aren’t i?” dave lowers his voice further.

the handles of the cupboards are suddenly immensely fascinating.

“he used to beat the shit out of me when i was a kid.” dave continues, with an edge of something. the simplicity of the statement smacks jake itself like a physical blow.

dave pauses, seems to realise how uncomfortable jake is, and backtracks. “sorry, we - we really don’t have to talk about this. i know you’re not good right now. i just,” he blabbers. “i get nightmares, it’s been years and i still get them, like tonight, and he’s right here now? he eats breakfast with us? he plays tekken with jade? and see it’s not even him, but for years i’ve been thinking about this, and it’s literally not even him, so it’s not like i have any kind of reason for any of this, it’s - it’s been years since he even died, and it’s not even him, and then i heard you, you and him, and it was similar, to me, me and… and i…” he trails off. “i wanted to talk to you.”

dave looks at his hands, ashamed. his face is splotchy.

“he didn’t hurt me,” jake assures, uneasy. the ‘but’ in his tone goes unsaid, and he hopes dave will ignore it.

he doesn’t. “…but his robot did, yeah?”

jakes silence is enough.

“it was meant to do that,” jake protests, when he realises what his silence is implying. “it was a fighting machine. i asked for it.” ‘it’? “i asked him for the machine,” he clarifies. “it was a present, my birthday present. it helped me. i wanted to learn how to fight.”

“do you like him?” dave asks.

“he’s my friend.” jake says.

“you dated,” he specifies.

“it didn’t… work out.”

“but you beat the shit out of vriska when she whacked him particularly hard.”

he feels himself flushing. “no… no, that was -“ but he supposes that’s what it must have looked like, and he falters.

“he used to built forts with me, my bro.” dave says, eyes glazing over. “out of blankets and shit. and we’d have a chinese and watch shitty anime under it on his flatscreen. like, elfen lied, that level of shittiness. we lived in this tiny flat in downtown houston and he always slept on the sofa bed cuz he wanted me to have my own bedroom, space for all my weird nerd shit.” he runs his finger along the edge of the baking tray. “i asked him to teach me how to fight, too.”

“he’s… not a bad person.” jake tries. he doesn’t know why his eyes are prickling.

dave picks the baking tray carbon from under his fingernails. “no, i don’t think he is.”

 

“fraymotifs,” john says.

he paces, his stride springy. the rest of them watch him, sat at and on top of the mess tables. “we have a few under our belts, but we haven’t actually given them much of a look-in,” he nods at jade. “so far, the only people we’ve known to pull one off to any degree of success is dave and jade with their space-time thing, but that was three years ago and against a radically different enemy, even if it did knock him back for a moment. that being said, a moment might be all we need to win this. a window.”

he folds his thick arms across his broad torso. “if i’m being honest, i’m not sure myself what it requires, besides purchasing the damn thing from some lizards for an inordinate amount of bullshit and being in the same vicinity as a person who has, also, got a hold of the same spell.”

“what john is saying,” rose cuts in. “is we need you all to list any you possess, and see if anyone matches up. they should be tabbed on your inventory menu, under special abilities.”

“what’s an inventory?” roxy asks, sticking her hand up.

“sorry, i meant sylladex.” rose corrects herself.

“we’re pretty sure you alphas,” here john gestures to jane, “don’t have any, because of your whole void session schtick. but it’s cool, that’s what we’re here for, it’s why were minted.”

jade brings up the tiny-size human session. skaia sits in the middle, the size of a tennis ball, and the geosynchronous eight planets orbit it as no more than tiny pencil dots, specks of light, serene. there is a vague glow that defines the heliosphere. “there’s not much point going back down to anywhere in the session otherwise, but i can shrink people down to see if there’s any motifs we can grab, any time.”

john looks at karkat. “we don’t have access to your session, obviously, so we’re not sure if we can get a hold of any for you lot. i hope you’ve brought some with you, i guess.”

“dave gave me four billion boonbucks or something dumb in the session, remember. i saw fit to purchase a couple at the time, though admittedly they seemed pretty fucking pointless.” terezi says. “i think i’ve got a mind/light one.”

“it’s amazing how often you humans forget we did actually win our game.” vriska huffs, stroking her hair.

“do we know how they work for non-tiered people?” kanaya asks.

“good question.” john says. “jade and dave weren’t tiered when they used the - the, uh,” he snaps his fingers.

“adiago redshift?” jade says, helpfully.

“- that,” john continues. “so it should be alright. what i’m suggesting is we all practice with these, on top of regular training. we’re barely a week and a half away from the big deal, and we need everything we can get. i only remembered the existence of them last night, so, uh, if anyone else has any ideas they’ve also left till the last minute, now would be a great time to make me not look like the only complete idiot here.”

when no-one answers, he claps his hands. “alright then.”

rose procures a jotter and starts asking dave for details.

roxy looks at jade. “hey, jade?”

she turns to her. “yeah?”

“do you think we should speedrun this shit, me and you? we can teleport over to everywhere, we each know one opposite half of all the planets, and i can make grist appear…” she demonstrates by flicking a 21st american nickel that previously didn’t exist through her fingers. “…out of thin air. that is, if vendors aren’t player-specific.”

jade nods, amused, and turns to john. “sound good, friendleader?”

“stop with that friendleader shit already,” he says, but nods at them both. roxy follows suit. “sounds good to me though - if you guys can pop in and out, buy as many as you can with your options. if you get stuck with money, talk to dave - he’s still on his weird temporal-power-celibacy-pledge but i’m sure he can still give you pointers on stock market manipulation. if you see anything else useful, get right back to me about it.”

“hey,” jade interrupts. “surely roxy poofing a bunch of money into existence is going to bring the value of it all down, like, basic economics.”

“not if nobody finds out!” roxy says, and winks at her.

“john, call us if you need anything. we’ll be back in an hour to report.” jade waves a tinkly wave to jake, who is listening in to the conversation. roxy salutes, and they both disappear in a flash of green. the system remains out and slowly rotating, like a live model.

jake wants to touch the little planets because they look pretty, but that would probably be a bad idea and also kill a lot of innocent amphibians.

john turns to him. “hey, dude, walk with me.”

jake turns away from the mini-medium and follows him, and they leave the common room. john stops in a quiet, empty corridor, where they are alone. he leans into jakes space, to emphasize privacy.

“how are you?” he asks.

“im okay,” jake says. he does, however, wish people would stop treating him like blown glass.

his eyes belay his concern. “i’ll just come out with it. you got a handle on it all yet?”

“no.” jake says. he hasn’t attempted anything since he - since the thing with vriska.

john claps his shoulder softly. “that’s fine. don’t you worry. it’s just good to see you out and about again. i was missing all your jakeisms,” he grins a broad grin. he got that word from roxy, jake realises. “we all were.”

jake smiles back, genuine. “i’m sorry.”

the smile fades. “what are you apologising for?”

he makes a snort-shrug-sigh noise.

john laughs a booming laugh, and wraps one arm around jake’s shoulders, and steers him back into the main room.

“kar-kat!” john calls, singsong.

“what.” they snarl without any real aggression, turning away from their conversation with terezi. rose immediately snaps onto her, turning onto a new page on her notebook. dave takes the moment to flee.

“what’s the plan with your blood powers?”

“what plan?”

“well, you haven’t been able to broach them properly yet either, right?”

“so?” they say, haughty and defensive.

john pushes jake forward. jake stumbles a bit. john points between the two of them, eyebrows raised.

jake and karkat stare at him, before sharing a look.

“john?” rose calls. “terezi wants to know if aspect-squared motifs are possible?”

“duty calls!” he grins again, smacks both of their backs for good measure, and walks off.

“what the fuck is wrong with him.” karkat states not to jake as moreso the local area.

“he’s nice,” jake says timidly.

“well of course he’s nice, that’s what’s wrong.” karkat turns to him. “he’s too nice. it’s fucking weird. everyone else is in emo anguish city, population, this meteor, but no, he’s springing about the place like a hoppfuck on budd-threshing day.”

jake doesn’t pretend to understand what that means, but he gets the gist. “he’s just that kind of person, i think. putting on a brave face and all.”

they make a sudden spitting noise that makes jake jump. “we’re all going to die in less than two weeks, and he hasn’t the decency to beat the ground in anguish about it once.”

“we might not die,” jake suggests.

karkat gives him a truly scathing look. “yeah, and i might use my goddamn blood bullshit to puppet control lord english into the macarena.”

“do alternians have the macarena?”

“it’s another universal constant.”

“gotcha,” jake says, except he hasn’t really got anything, and in fact feels sort of lost. “what did john want us to talk about?”

“fuck knows,” karkat says.

 

 

Dirk knocks on his door the next evening. “hi,” he says.

“hello,” jake replies, standing in the doorway.

“uh.” he begins. “can i come in?”

jake slides his hand from the door handle. he steps backward and lowers his head, gesturing.

Dirk eyes his fenestrated window, which is showing a fake summer’s day in a temperate, western climate. blue skies, green grass, oak trees, the like.

“haven’t you got roxy to code you some pacific tropics? some palms?” Dirk asks. “must be weird for you.”

jake shrugs, hunching his neck into his shoulders.

he clears his throat. “i wanted to talk. i think we should talk.”

“okay,”

“we haven’t really talked since the caliborn thing.” he adds. “like, at all.”

“okay,” he repeats.

Dirk stares at him, as if he’s expecting jake to say something. when it becomes clear jake is not about to elaborate, he sighs.

“neither of us are good at this whole communication thing,” he states, almost as a forewarning. “but i’m going to need more than one word answers.”

of course, jake thinks bitterly.

Dirk continues, like he’s giving some sort of speech. “i know you’re uncomfortable around me.”

“no,” jake lies.

“don’t lie.”

“i’m not,”

“yes, you are. you’ve got to be an idiot to not see how you act around me. i walked in to the common room with a cup of coffee yesterday and you jumped off the couch like you’d been electrocuted and ran off.”

jake looks at the floor.

“look, i -“ Dirk stops. “this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. this conversation. i just wanted to ask you to come to the hall this evening.”

jake fiddles with his sleeve.

“the court, about midnight.”

“why?”

“just be there, okay?”

“okay?” jake says.

“good.” Dirk replies, and nods a few times. jake finds himself nodding in response.

the air thickens, cloying. Dirk coughs like it could dissipate it.

“see you later, then.” he says, and walks out of the room.

 

the lights hanging from the high ceiling hum and flicker on across the hall, clicking as the fusebox is flipped. it is midnight, arcs time, as agreed.

Dirk walks into the center of the court, boots clacking. he replaced his green flats a long time ago, about the same time jake replaced his speedos with some more sensible shorts. “you have the motifs jade gave you?” his voice rings in the silence.

“yes,” jake replies. “but i can’t do any of them.”

he ignores him.

“i still can’t use my powers.” jake rewords.

“yes, you can.” Dirk says. “and we’re going to try it now.”

“i seriously can’t! is that what this is?” jake, following him, stops walking. Dirk turns to him. “that thing with vriska… i, i didn’t have a say in it. i didn’t … i didn’t choose to do that.”

“but you can use it.”

jake grits his teeth. “what do you want, Dirk?”

“how do you explain your magic?”

he looks at him. “what?”

“explain to me how your magic works.”

“i don’t know,”

“you do know.”

“i assure you i don’t!”

“you do.”

“i really don’t!” he says, hotly. “trust me, i would love to! it’s what i’ve been trying to work out for weeks!”

“i know you know. i just want you to tell me.”

“what?!”

“you know exactly what i’m asking.”

“what the hell makes you think i know?”

he rolls his eyes.

“fucks sake!” jake throws his arms out, exasperated. “if you brought me here solely to spout nonsense and pull this psychoanalysis bullshit i’m honestly going back to bed.”

“you’re tired,” he notes absently.

“of course i’m bloody well tired! it’s the middle of the night, i haven’t slept properly in weeks, and you’re driving me round the bend saying shit that doesn’t make a lick of sense!”

he pauses. “both of the times you’ve properly used your powers, i’ve been in danger. you’ve saved me twice. it’s the only common factor to both experiences. those experiments we did - they didn’t work. not at all - because it was the wrong focus.”

“you weren’t in danger with vriska!”

“your powers didn’t know that.”

“which proves i can’t control them.”

“exactly,” he paces in front of jake. “it gives us a fighting chance for this to work.”

“what the fuck are you even talking about?”

he assesses him. “a fraymotif.”

jake looks at him like he’s crazy. “how many times do i have to remind you i can’t control this? what makes you think i’ll be able to do that?”

“i have influence on your magic, that’s been established.”

“no,” he shakes his head. “no, what’s the real reason for this.”

“that is the real reason.” he says.

“no, it’s not,” jake says, because he’s not the only person who can play this game, actually. “tell me the truth.”

if Dirk is surprised by his response, he doesn’t show it. “i wanted to try a fraymotif.”

“with me.” he scoffs.

“with you,”

“while no-one else is around.”

Dirk is silent.

“at midnight,” jake continues. “a week before we take lord english on.”

“better now than never,” he says, which is him trying to convince himself of his own cockiness more than anything else.

jake snorts.

“roxy told me about the other timeline.” Dirk adds. “you activated your powers in that one too. something with vriska’s dancestor fucking around with your head. you made a copy of me to fight for you.”

“excuse me?”

“she said you made another dirk exist because you willed it. you willed a version of me to fight for you while you couldn’t control yourself - the actual, real me was halfway across the medium at the time. the other dirk disappeared only when you died and couldn’t support its existence anymore.”

“what’s that got to do with anything?”

“not even mentioning that my own powers operate through splintering and apparently you own one of those splinters - you couldn’t control yourself. you’re right! you can’t control your powers. because your usage is defined by a lack of. that’s what it’s been the whole time.

“and you know this. so,” he says, moving in front of jake again. “explain to me how your magic works.”

 

the lightning slants through dirk’s blinds. it doesn’t thunder on his planet, rather, it hums; a low buzz that worms deep into the bone. the rain is thick and oily, here - it sleets against the windows. the ground is dusty, and ashen - they are far above it, in his house-on-stilts. they are on his couch - they are kissing.

( outside, a thousand buildings claw upwards - past the horizon. )

 

jake looks away.

“i can… change things,” he says, quietly. “i think.”

“what things?” Dirk presses.

“i -”

“what things,”

“Dirk,”

“what things.”

“…anything.”

“if you let go.” Dirk adds. “if you lose control.”

“if i want to.” jake clarifies, and looks at him.

“if you think it’s what’s supposed to happen. it’s only what you honestly and truly believe should happen. that’s what your aspect is, jake. belief, hope, change.”

he says nothing.

“and you know this.” Dirk steps forward, and jake takes one back. “you knew. you just chose not to think about it. you’re still choosing to not think about it!

“that’s why you couldn’t… do it. why those tries where you got me to fuck around with your spirit-soul-whatever the fuck, almost kill you, didn’t work. because you were scared of yourself. you were scared to do it.” he pauses. “you are scared.”

“no, i - i -” he stammers.

he steps closer. “they didn’t work because you didn’t want them to work. you stopped them yourself before they even had a chance of working. the seizures - that was you fighting yourself. you’re scared of yourself. you’re - scared they’re working all the time, subconsciously. that by not controlling it, you’re changing all of it. all of this. that this is all your doing. that we’re losing this game because of you. that people died because a part of you thinks this is how it’s supposed to be and has changed the fabric of this world to align with that, with your wants. with what you think is real. with your beliefs! and that’s why you refuse to let it work. that’s why you refuse to try. that’s why -“

“no,” he says, flinching away from him and shaking his head. he walks a few steps away and Dirk doesn’t follow.

“you don’t know what’s real,” Dirk carries on, lip curling. “you don’t even know if me coming to this conclusion is something i did myself or something you’ve subconsciously made me do so we can have this conversation, so you can hear it from an outside source, someone to blame! you don’t even know if any of this is real, any of this, not since you lost control of your powers the first time, not since you opened the floodgates solely, solely, to save my -“

“don’t,” jake says, clenching his eyes shut.

“make me disappear if you want me to stop.” he says, damningly. “we both know you can.”

there is a long pause.

Dirk’s footsteps ring.

he puts a hand on jake’s shoulder, from behind him.

“you don’t really want me to, do you? you don’t want me to stop. or i would have.” his voice is low. “you would have made me.”

jake’s eyes are prickling, eyelids tight.

“jake,” Dirk rubs his thumb into his shoulder blade, gentle. “i’m trying to help you.”

he shrugs him off violently.

the fluorescents hum.

“it would work between us,” Dirk spits. “if you wanted it enough.”

 

jake knocks on dave’s door.

“i’m still not done sampling your shit from yesterday,” dave calls from inside.

“it’s jake,” he says.

there’s some shuffling, and dave opens the door with a pair of headphones slung around his portcullis collar. “oh, sorry man, thought you were rox. just getting my doomsday ‘tunes in.”

jake nods dumbly.

dave narrows his eyes. “y’allright?”

“…can i come in?”

“’course,” dave says, gesturing.

dave’s room looks like it’s been hit with a bomb comprised solely of late 1990’s wiring. there is what jake thinks is a turntable, and a lot of other machines with various buttons and lights beeping and flashing. there’s a big computer in the middle. it all looks immensely complicated.

“that’s just my mixing set,” dave says, noticing his gaze. “sorry my room’s a tip.”

“it’s okay,” jake says.

“sit down, sit down.” dave scratches the back of his neck, and motions at a couple of bean bags. he remains leaning against his desk.

jake seats himself on one, his bare knees pressed together tightly.

“catch,” dave warns, jiggling a carton of juice, but doesn’t throw it until jake motions for him to do so. upon catching it, he holds it delicately. “so what brings you round these parts?”

“i just, um.” jake says. they haven’t really talked since the conversation on the kitchen floor both of them are pretending didn’t happen. “…came to check out your films.”

“’course,” he says, smiling.

“how are you and karkat?” jake blurts out.

“huh? oh, we’re good.” dave scratches his chin. “though their completely wrong about the value of alternian synth pop as a potential weapon.”

jake smiles back. “of course.”

dave folds his arms. “and dirk?”

the smile goes out like a light.

dave sits himself on the other beanbag. “that bad, huh?”

“we had a talk.” jake says.

“and?”

“i don’t know.” he motions to stand, putting the unpierced carton down. “i don’t know why i’m here. i’m sorry.”

“no, no, hey.” dave says, arms out, reaching for him to sit back down. “jake. what’s wrong?”

jake shifts uncomfortably. “nothing’s wrong. sorry for bothering you. i have to go.”

 

kanaya and rose’s fraymotif is a whirlwind of colour and light and warmth, yawning over millions of miles in a matter of inches. it is beautiful. when they touch the ground again they hug tightly, kanaya chattering excitedly, rose unable to stop grinning. the others crowd them, congratulating, fist pumping - the first fraymotif performed in years. roxy materializes a cake john makes a face at and refuses to eat.

 

 

__

_( jake stands next to dirk, wheezing on the floor. he turns his head at the cherubs disappearance, the disappearance of the descending fist - bruised eyes surprised to find jake there, instead._

_“jake?” dirk coughs, drooling blood. “what -“_

“he will not touch you again.” _he says, with a thousand voices. )_

 

 


End file.
